Fanchon's Book

Chapter 6

A sucking mouth! How I shuddered afterward: had I actually uttered those coarse words myself?

Foolish question. Rhetorical, obviously, inasmuch as most of my shuddering stemmed from desire rather than dismay. Anyway, it was true, wasn't it? No less true than if the vulgar phrase had sprung into existence on a Freudian analyst's couch. A mouth. A sucking. mouth. Maybe I had always felt like that in some sequestered segment of my subconscious.

Oh, I could go on rationalizing it usque ad nauseam, but to what avail? I knew it was so. My little princess knew it was so. The hypothesis had already eclipsed its need for verification; a spade by any other name was still a spade; in a rosebush of sensuality, why be chafed by intellectual thorns? Pleasure had come my way, rare, priceless beyond concept-and if this be unreason, let me make the most of it.

Fanchon, you're a sucking mouth.

I was ready. Ready to hear her say the words. And as it turned out, though, there was no need to plead for her favor. I already had it, evidently; she came into my room dressed in robe and slippers, just as eager for me as I was for her, green eyes glittering, red lips smiling, blonde hair loose and flowing down her back ready for bed, my bed.

"Ma'm, I had such a crazy dream last night. I've been dying to tell you about it all day."

"In that case, I'm dying to hear it."

"Well, it got pretty weird. I was in some kind of sex orgy, right in the middle of it, but I couldn't see the people around me, I could only feel their mouths." She giggled breathlessly. "Oooh, what fun! Mouths and mouths and mouths-there must have been a hundred all kissing me."

"Hmm, quite a dream."

"I'll say. And you know something? I thought of you when I woke up. I was almost tempted to come over here and tell you about it right that minute."

"You should have, my dear. Next time, please do. My beautiful princess is always welcome."

"Next time maybe I will. I sure could have used you."

"Used me? Oh… " I knew what she meant, audacious little minx that she was, and yet even the insolence of her bold statement only stimulated me all the more. "Yes. You could have used me. I wish you had."

"Uh-huh. I'll remember that."

"Princess? Would you like to use me now?"

"That's what I came for. Only I don't feel like playing a princess tonight, I guess I'd rather just be myself. A girl named Kristi." In a single sinuous motion she slithered out of her robe and slippers and fell back upon the bed. "And as for you, Fanchon, we both know what you are. A mouth. A hot mouth. Now multiply yourself a hundred times and kiss me."

I knew I wouldn't have to wait like the last time, days and days; the little darling loved me and wanted more of what I could give her. I could tell. She went about her duties as usual, but now there was a provocative spark in her eye when she glanced in my direction, an expression on her beautiful face that would have seemed impudent if it hadn't been so adorable. Once, just once, while she was dusting the furniture in the living room-she put her hand out toward me in that brusquely imperative manner of hers and I thought we were about to embark on another flight of fantasy. But my husband came in just then (I could have killed him!) and she merely shrugged and went on with her chores. Not that he would have noticed. What with political crises occurring with monotonous regularity, poor dear Oliver lived in a world of his own, a world of presidents and prime ministers but nary a princess. At least not my princess. He was scarcely aware of the change in the household.

Game postponed, then-but I knew the delay would be short. Now that Kristi had sampled my painless kiss, the handwriting on the wall was only too legible: I had been tried and found not wanting in the balance. I bathed alone that night, preparing meticulously, powdering and perfuming my body in delicious expectation, wondering how it would begin. Would I have to beg again?

I didn't mind. In its own way, the ritual had been quite exciting-although it did seem a mite grotesque that I should have to kneel and humble myself at the feet of my own servant. Still, what else could I do? Oh, she was so capricious, my darling little princess, and I just didn't dare defy her.

Multiply myself? I couldn't see how. But I didn't have to, of course, I didn't have to see or understand anything but that beautiful naked body and what I could do for it. One mouth, a hundred mouths-what difference did it make? If such was the desire of my darling princess-but no, she wasn't a princess tonight, just a girl named Kristi; I didn't understand that either, but her legs were spread and the fluff of fine spun silk was there in front of my face, so delectably alluring, the color of antique gold, and I parted my lips to partake of it. I knew what she wanted. I knew what I wanted. Like this, yes, to kiss and suck and"Fanchon, no!"

"Hmm?"

"A hundred mouths, I told you. Do it right. All over. Kiss me, nibble me-come on now, do it!"

I did it. Anyhow, I tried. I kissed her. All over. I nibbled her ears and licked the soles of her feet-and there wasn't much in between that I missed. But always lightly, lightly, and even when I left her lovely breasts and found my way back down to the sweet pink-lipped slit greedily, she stiffened in adamant dissent and refused to let me burrow into its moist depths; I had to content myself with a myriad of kisses upon it and around it and beneath it in the soft creases and hollows of her thighs and buttocks, still kissing, kissing, never sucking; oh, the frustration! I was hot, so unbearably hot! and if she didn't do something soon"Stop now, Fanchon."

"Hmm?"

"You heard me. Must I say it twice? Let's rest awhile."

"Rest? But I-"

"Come. Lie down alongside me. Get comfortable.

You and I have some things to talk about." Talk? Rest? Get comfortable? Oh sure-like a Hindu mystic on a slab of nails, except that I was attuned not to the spiritual but to the physical: I felt every excruciating point. But I lay there without complaint, gritting my teeth and suffering in silence, a reluctant martyr.

She sat up and touched my lips with a fingertip. "Such a nice Fanchon-mouth. Mmm, yes, I remember, a sucking mouth-that's what you are. Do you want to suck Kristi? Is that what pretty Fanchon-mouth is so excited about?" She jerked her hand back. "No, no, mustn't be impatient. You'll get your chance."

I swallowed my groan of desperation. She peered down at me, snickering a little-more sympathetic than sardonic-and then, quite swiftly, scrambled up to a standing position on the bed. The abrupt movement caught me by surprise; all of a sudden there she was, towering high above me, leaning against the headboard for support, drawing the extended line of my gaze across the glistening kiss-damp tuft of hair and through the valley between her jutting breasts to the enigmatic smile on her face. Rather like the front and rear peep sight arrangement of a rifle, only I wasn't sure which target to aim at.

"Kristi, what-what are you-"

"Hush." She raised one foot and placed it upon my lips; it quivered at the immediate touch of my tongue.

"Mmm, I like that. My feet are sensitive. Just the way your mouth is. Sensitive. You'll do this for me often, I hope-even when I don't ask you to. Ooh, yes, I love it when you lick my feet." Then, in a tone thick with promise, "Such fun we'll have. You'll see. We'll play games, we'll act out all kinds of crazy scenes-you know, even while I'm talking about it like this I get wild ideas."

The wilder the better, I thought, but I couldn't say it aloud, the sole of her foot limited my lingual agility strictly to caresses. And when she moved it a moment later to explore my bosom with her toes, I was too overwhelmed to speak. I held my breath and looked up at that aphrodisiac perspective and nearly swooned from the sheer wonderment of it all. Was this me? Lying on my back and staring upward and licking my lips covetously while the curling toes pinched my swollen nipples? Me? Yes, I would kiss the feet of my darling Kristi, anytime, now and forever, I would suck those sharp-nailed toes if it pleased her; oh, such cruel toes! tormenting me like that-but where were they going? Down my body? Where? Ah

There?

They didn't. What a disappointment. My limbs shot apart and I waited and hoped and prayed… But her soft little foot stopped roving and planted Itself firmly upon the bed even with the other and then, slowly, the length of her upright form crumpled and sagged Into a squat over my face; I opened my jaws wide and stuck out my tongue and heard her voice in the dim distance as the cloven flesh settled and squirmed fluidly to take me into its scented prison.

"But you're really just a mouth, Fanchon, and we both know it. So whatever scenes we play will probably end like this. Yes, now, suck me!"

I felt her hand at the crux of my thighs. Not the fingers, only the palm-patting me affectionately. Hardly a sexy gesture. But it was enough, more than enough, just that tiny touch and I exploded in a stupendous climax and might have fainted but for the terrible, wonderful weight mashing down on my face and rocking back and forth and asserting its absolute and unconditional right to make use of my mouth. My sucking mouth. Dh yes, I knew who I was, yes-you know exactly who and what you are, don't you, Fanchon-mouth?-and I didn't faint, of course, I just went on doing what I was supposed to do. And loving it.